


Wilson (Expensive Mistakes)

by justasock_x



Series: M A N I A by Fall Out Boy [4]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magic, Mind Control, No Beta, No smut in this one sorry yall, Protective!Geralt, Yennefer and Jaskier are gonna be bffs, hurt!Jaskier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:40:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26254291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justasock_x/pseuds/justasock_x
Summary: I always make such expensive mistakes. I know it's just a number, but you're the 8th wonder.Geralt will do anything to save Jaskier, every single time.
Relationships: Brief mention of Geralt/Yennefer, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: M A N I A by Fall Out Boy [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1894084
Comments: 1
Kudos: 93





	Wilson (Expensive Mistakes)

**Author's Note:**

> Fics in this series are oneshots loosely based on the songs from the album M A N I A, by Fall Out Boy. Not beta-read, all mistakes are my own. Fandom knowledge comes exclusively from the TV series, other fics, and cursory Googling.

Geralt allowed himself to shout in frustration for maybe thirty seconds before he started thinking. Who would want Jaskier and why? He was going to need help. As much as he didn’t want to ask her, Geralt knew he had no choice. He let out a curse and made his way back to Roach, digging through his bags and pulling out a small box. He stared at it for a moment and sent a prayer he wasn’t sure would be heard before he raised it to his mouth.

“Yennefer?”

Silence. Geralt’s slow heartbeat started to pick up. 

Then, as he dropped his hand - “Geralt?”

“Yen, please. I need your help.”

Her sigh came through clearly, and when she spoke, she sounded tired.

“Now what can I do for you, Witcher?”

“Someone’s taken Jaskier,” he said, his voice steady but his insides like ice.

“Taken? Taken him where? Where are you?”

Geralt took a breath when he realized. _Redania_. “Outside of Tretogor,” he admitted.

Yennefer sighed again. “I’ll meet you there in an hour.”

Geralt threw the xenovox back into his pack and hoisted himself back into Roach’s saddle, guiding her into a gallop to make it to town. The faint scent of lilac and gooseberries led him to a small, cramped storefront where Yennefer was haggling with the poor shopkeeper over the price for a bolt of fabric.

“Yen,” he said quietly, approaching on silent feet. 

“Geralt,” she responded, voice low as her violet eyes flashed over him. She was far too observant, not to mention the most powerful sorceress he’d ever met, and she quirked a brow like she knew a secret. All she said was, “I have a few ideas about who might’ve taken your bard.”

The Witcher tried not to appear too eager, but he must’ve given himself away, because Yennefer began to laugh at him. Her laugh was musical, but the only music he wanted right now was the sound of Jaskier humming. His unimpressed look caused her to cough delicately and finally continue speaking, but a small smirk played at her full lips as she talked.

“Jaskier is _from_ Redania, Geralt, of course people here know him. I’m sure he’s crossed quite a few, from the little gossip I’ve heard since getting here.”

“Which was when?” Geralt demanded, folding his arms. He felt sick. He had _known_ coming towards Jaskier’s hometown would be a bad idea. There was a reason the bard had set off to see the rest of the world in the first place.

“Hm, about twenty minutes ago now,” she mused, going back to looking at the fabric between her and the annoyed shopkeeper.

“I’ll give you thirty,” she said, shrugging. “No more.”

The shopkeeper sputtered. “Thirty?” he repeated, shaking his head. “No way, lady, costs more than that to import.”

Rolling her eyes, Yennefer left the fabric on the table and took Geralt by the hand, ignoring his instinct to pull away and tightening her grip at his attempt.

“Let’s go, I have an idea.”

“What’s your idea?” he asked as soon as they were back outside, taking Roach’s reins and following behind the sorceress as she weaved through people in the market. She seemed to have a destination in mind, so Geralt was content to leave his question unanswered and follow her. He knew she was his best shot at finding his bard. Not just her power, but he knew that underneath her cold exterior she felt a fondness for Jaskier. Whether she wanted to admit it or not, their bantering delighted her. He was a witty opponent, and nothing impressed Yennefer more than a fighting spirit.

“We’re going to track him.” 

Yennefer led him to a small house on the outskirts of town, nondescript and a little run down but habitable. When he followed her inside, he was taken aback by the grand staircase and marble floors, the piano in the corner and the fire crackling merrily in the huge, polished hearth.

“What is this place?” 

“Calm down, Geralt. It’s just a glamour. It makes things...more pleasant, does it not?” Her tone was flirty. Geralt’s eye twitched.

“Can you help me, Yennefer?” he forced himself to ask, staring directly into her eyes.

“Of course I can, but I don’t work for free, Geralt. You know that.” Yennefer smirked, eyes twinkling, and pressed a slim-fingered hand to his chest. “I’m sure we can work out a similar arrangement this time. Although,” she murmured thoughtfully, glancing at her own hand pressed against him, “perhaps not. You seem quite shaken by the loss of your pet.”

Geralt stepped away from her. “He’s hardly a pet.”

“Hm. Indeed.”

“Yennefer. What do you want?” he growled, fists clenched.

“Protection,” she answered, dropping her pretenses. It was clear immediately that she had known their previous arrangement was off the table. “I want to come to Kaer Morhen with you and Jaskier for the winter.”

“Why on Earth?” He was confused. What help could a Witcher provide to the greatest sorceress on the whole Continent? The keep was well maintained inside, but outside it was crumbling, built right into the harsh mountains it resided on. The trail was a hazard for all but a Witcher and his companions, though, and Geralt knew how often Yennefer liked to piss off powerful people.

“You’re hiding,” he realized aloud, raising a finger and pointing it at her. She only laughed.

“You pick that up from your bard?” she asked, gesturing towards his outstretched hand. “You’re usually a tad more reserved. But, I suppose we do tend to pick up the mannerisms of those we spend all of our time with, don’t we?” she mused. 

“Do you have something to say, Yennefer?” Geralt demanded, tired of this game. He wanted to find his bard, and then he wanted to wrap him in cotton and hide him away where no one could find them and threaten Jaskier ever again. The sorceress rolled her eyes.

“Gods, Geralt, you’re no fun when you’re in love,” she complained, but she moved over towards the desk sitting in the corner of the house, covered with parchment and questionable bottles. 

“I’ll need something with traces of the bard on it,” she added, beginning to pull supplies from the desk. He thought for a moment before he grabbed the ribbon in his hair, shaking the braid out as he removed it and held it aloft. “Will this work? He touched it this morning.”

She stared at it and then shook her head. “Nice color,” she told him, taking the blue ribbon and adding it to the collection of items in her arms. “Follow me.”

Geralt rolled his eyes but let Yennefer lead him farther into the house, entering what was clearly her main workspace. Books lined the built in shelves, and glass bottles were stored in every nook and cranny with liquids and strange potion ingredients inside. She picked up a heavy looking tome and began to flip through it quickly, Geralt watching her with narrowed golden eyes and a thin thread of patience.

Just when he couldn’t take it anymore, she announced, “Ha! Found it. I’m going to need your help, though. The spell requires a sacrifice from a loved one.” Her eyes glinted when they met his, knowing and amused.

He didn’t bother to deny it. “What kind of sacrifice?”

“Blood will suffice.” 

Without hesitation, he pulled his dagger from his boot and sliced through his forearm, blood beginning to drip immediately. Yennefer raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment, bringing the empty bottle in her hand forward to press against the wound and capture the flow.

“Wonderful,” she informed him as she capped the vial. “I’ll need two days.”

“Two days?” he roared immediately, fists clenching.

“Two days,” she repeated solemnly, eyes focused on chopping a root of some sort into fine pieces and combining it with his blood.

“What about Jaskier?”

She grimaced. “We’ll have to hope whoever has him doesn’t want to hurt him.”

* * *

Jaskier blinked awake slowly, head fuzzy and aching. Without thinking, he moved to cuddle into Geralt, eyes opening when he realized the bed was cold and large, more comfortable than any inn they’d ever been in. When he took stock of his surroundings, he groaned. He was home, sitting in his childhood bedroom, wrists and ankles tied neatly to his four-poster bed, the blue silks he’d painstakingly chosen as a teen wrapped around him comfortably. The mage who had appeared behind him on the road with Geralt was watching him from the settee with bright green eyes, mouth quirked but otherwise still and silent.

“What do they want?” he demanded, sitting up as much as his bonds would allow.

The mage shrugged. “They want their heir to give up these silly travels,” she answered, voice melodic and stern. “They’ve allowed you to have your fun, but now it’s time to accept your role, Julian.”

“My name is Jaskier.”

The mage smiled. “Sure. I’ll let the Count know you’ve awakened.”

Jaskier stiffened. “Please don’t.” 

The mage continued to smile, but it went sharp and threatening. “I think I don’t take orders from wayward bards,” she answered, inspecting her nails before she stood. “Stay put now, Julian. Your father is very eager to see you.”

Jaskier could do nothing but settle back into the feather pillows, body taut as he waited for his childhood tormentor to appear as he had so many times before when the bard was helpless and dependent on him.

His ears strained to parse anything that might prepare him, but all he could hear were the sounds of servants moving through the halls, emptying chamber pots, bringing breakfast, remaking beds while chattering among themselves. Not for the first time since following Geralt, Jaskier cursed his human senses. It hadn’t been long, but he still startled when the door opened and admitted his father, the mage, and a servant carrying a bowl of porridge with cream. His stomach growled traitorously and his father smirked, eyes cold as they swept over Jaskier like an ice storm.

“Welcome home, Julian. I see you’re settling in,” the Count offered, arms folded across his chest. 

He was an intimidating man, tall and muscular with scars from various wars dotting his body. His hair was chestnut but graying at the temples, and the lines around his mouth and eyes lent an aura of wisdom to him that Jaskier had always chafed at. They did look remarkably similar, down to the shade of their eyes - a curious, icy blue. Jaskier’s eyes were always warm with laughter and good cheer, but his father had eyes like flint, cold and unfeeling.

“I’m not staying here,” he said immediately, yanking at his bonds. “Let me go. Geralt will come for me.”

“I’m sure your Witcher will come visit,” his father answered, waving a hand. “He’ll see that you belong at your court, readying yourself to take over when I pass.”

“Are you dying?” Jaskier demanded, eyes wild. “Good. Let your wife handle it. Let Valyrie handle it. I don’t care who does, I won’t.”

“You will,” his father admonished, shaking his head. “You’ll see.” 

Jaskier watched as his father and the mage approached his bed, and she laid a hand on his forehead. “No,” Jaskier begged, thrashing as much as he could. “Don’t let her play around in my head. Father, please.”

His father watched impassively. “Now, Magda.” 

The mage nodded and began to whisper under her breath. Jaskier’s world went dark, and he knew no more.

* * *

Geralt had tried meditating for a short while before he realized that he couldn’t empty his mind. All he could think about were the last moments he saw Jaskier, before the unknown mage had torn him from the Witcher and brought Hell down around herself. Yennefer had been working around the clock, to her credit, mumbling over her potion and stirring rapidly at odd intervals. Geralt had gone to hunt for their dinner to work off some of his excess energy, and when he returned with a deer and three hares, Yennefer was waiting for him.

“I found your bard,” she announced as soon as he was within earshot. He dropped his kills immediately and raced to her side. 

“Where is he?” he demanded, golden eyes wide and intent.

“With his parents,” she answered grimly, shaking her head. 

“That’s good news, isn’t it? He’s safe.”

“Oh, Geralt, how much has Jaskier told you about his past?” Yennefer asked him, placing a hand on his arm. He bristled. 

“Not much,” he admitted. “He doesn’t like to talk about it.”

“Of course he doesn’t,” she snapped. “He had a blowout fight with his parents at his betrothal dinner when he was eighteen and hasn’t been home since. If he’s been taken by a mage, like you suspect, and if the tracking spell worked, which it did, we need to get to Lettenhove. Jaskier is in danger.”

“Danger from his parents?” Geralt demanded, already loading his pack onto his shoulder.

“They want an obedient son, Geralt, and now they have a strong enough mage to get one.”

Yennefer watched Geralt while she talked, taking in his tense shoulders and clenched jaw. He truly was so far gone for the bard that he didn’t realize he wasn’t controlling himself. It was something she had never expected to see from the repressed Witcher. As much as she hated to admit it, it was possible that Jaskier was a better fit for Geralt than she could ever have been. Yennefer was a wild, untamed ball of Chaos, roaming the Continent and leaving destruction in her wake whenever it suited her. Jaskier was like a calming balm to Geralt’s soul, not the match that Yennefer would’ve been to Geralt’s fire. Jaskier soothed ruffled feathers and hurt feelings, touched the fickle bit of humanity that remained in Geralt’s heart.

“I’ll portal us there, Geralt, give me a moment.” She could tell from his barely-leashed tension that he was ready to get there on foot. Focusing, Yennefer pulled a portal open and motioned with her head for Geralt to go through. He did so, and she followed after him to find the sunshine and ponds of the gardens of Lettenhove. Geralt quickly incapacitated the lone guard patrolling the gardens, and he crept around corners with Yennefer at his back, his steel sword in hand and her fingers ready to bring Chaos to life as they made their way into the rear of the manor.

The kitchen was bustling with servants, murmuring excitedly as they prepared what looked to be a great feast. No one paid the two intruders any mind, and Geralt casually put his sword away as Yennefer straightened at his side. 

“Can’t hardly believe the boy’s back,” one woman said to another, both of them mixing dough for bread. 

“Doesn’t seem himself, though,” the other one responded, brushing sweat away from her forehead with her wrist. “Not as bright, y’know? Dull, almost. What a shame. Was a smart boy.”

The women carried on gossiping as Geralt and Yennefer passed through the kitchen. Geralt’s brow was furrowed as he looked down the long hallway, dotted with beautiful, intricate vases and portraits of family members. He stopped in front of one, transfixed.

“Him as a boy,” Yennefer acknowledged as she stood next to him, both of their eyes taking in the beautiful portrait of a young Jaskier - he was tall and thin, with proud, blue eyes and a lute in his hand. He looked much the same as he did now, although he filled out a doublet much better than he used to. Geralt shook himself mentally, stowing the picture very carefully into a corner of his mind so he could consider it later, and put his hand on the hilt of his sword. He wasn’t sure which way to turn in this maze, and he wasn’t sure if it was ill luck or good fortune that brought the matron of the house to their company.

“Ah, you must be the Witcher our dear Julian keeps talking about,” a woman announced as she approached, bringing with her an overpowering smell of talcum powder and flowers. Geralt disliked her immediately, and his medallion hummed faintly. He stared at her, unimpressed, as he folded his arms.

“Geralt, right?” she continued, paying no mind to his and Yennefer’s twin looks of disbelief. “We knew you were coming, dear, but we weren’t expecting your guest. It’s rude to bring people unannounced. No matter,” she continued, turning around and leaving them no choice but to follow her to a set of double doors. “I’m sure these rooms will suffice? Julian will be joining us for dinner but I’m afraid he’s in lessons now.”

The growl escaped before Geralt could stop it. “I want to see him now, Countess,” he demanded.

The woman giggled, as though he were a particularly amusing toddler. “I think not, Witcher,” she responded, ushering the pair into the room and leaning on the door. “Your presence is insult enough.”

Geralt could only grit his teeth, knowing he had to keep calm until he could see Jaskier and get him out of here. 

“What time is dinner, ma’am?” Yennefer asked politely.

“I’ll send a servant,” the Countess responded, shutting the door with a decisive _click_.

Geralt paced the room after dropping his pack and swords on the trunk at the foot of the opulent bed. Only one bed, he noted sourly. The Countess clearly assumed that he and Yennefer were together. The thought made his stomach twist unpleasantly. 

“You said he left after a fight at his betrothal ball?” he asked the mage, who was studiously ignoring him in favor of picking at her nails.

“Yes,” Yennefer replied, rolling her eyes. “He was set to marry some Princess or something and he threw a fit and took off. His parents were quite disgraced, and the Princess and her father were furious.”

“So they kidnap him and do what to him? Erase his memories of me?” Geralt demanded, voice rough.

“No, he’ll remember. Deep, deep down, those memories are suppressed. Something will have to jog them loose, and I’m betting they’ve done more to him than just made him forget. Probably, they’ve made him docile, too. Else he’d be screaming and singing and causing a scene to get back to you, I’m sure.” Yennefer shook her head. “I don’t recognize the magic here, either. This mage is young.”

They were interrupted by a brisk knock at the door, and Geralt answered it expecting to see a servant summoning them for dinner. Instead, a tall, thin girl with chestnut hair shoved her way into the room and slammed the door behind her, twisting the lock. Geralt and Yennefer stared at her warily. She was clearly agitated, her full lips drawn back in a grimace and her hair falling in curls around her pale, heart-shaped face. 

“Are you Geralt?” she demanded without pause, hands on her non-existent hips. The dress she was wearing was a shade of blue so dark it was almost black, and it shimmered as she shifted restlessly. “Please tell me you’re Geralt.”

“I am,” he answered, raising a brow. “And who might you be?”

“I’m Valyrie Pankratz,” the girl answered, waving a hand. “That doesn’t matter. Can you help Julian? Is that why you’re here? When he’s lucid, he asks for you.”

“Lucid?” Geralt repeated. “What do you mean? What have they done to him?” He stalked forward, nearly pinning the girl against the door, but she didn’t falter. “Who are you?”

“I’m his older sister, and if you’ll just get back so I can open the door, I’ll take you to him,” Valyrie snapped back, shoving at his chest. He let her push him back, a distant part of his brain noting a hint of Jaskier’s trademark fearlessness, and he followed her as she led him down a series of corridors to a subfloor and a small, wooden door. He eyed it dubiously.

“Jaskier is in here?” he asked, staring at the door and then looking back at the girl.

“I know,” Valyrie answered, rolling her eyes. “Magda’s in there. Father doesn’t think he needs extra protection with Magda watching him. She doesn’t let him get too lucid, usually. Sometimes at night I’ll sneak it when she’s dozing and talk to him, try to bring him back. She always gets him back under though, I can’t break through far enough. They’ve enchanted the room to look like his childhood bedroom, too, which I’m sure doesn’t help his mental state. He was so unhappy here.”

Geralt glanced at Yennefer who nodded, and then he reached out and twisted the knob. The room was much larger than it appeared outside thanks to the glamour, and Jaskier sat in the middle of a huge bed covered in blue silks and white furs, whispering to himself. Magda was nowhere to be seen, but Yennefer could feel her presence nearby. 

“What’s he doing?” Geralt asked Valyrie as he approached the bed. Jaskier’s normally clear blue eyes were glazed and unseeing.

“His lessons,” Valyrie answered, voice quiet as she came to stand next to him. “Magda’s bewitched him or something. Listen to what he’s saying. He goes through the family tree for a few generations, but then it changes.”

“Witchers are terrible beasts,” Jaskier murmured to himself, unblinking eyes staring into nothing. “Witchers are dangerous, Julian. Stay away from the Witchers. They will hurt you.”

Geralt leapt back as if he’d been shocked and whirled to glare at Valyrie, who ignored him and went to Jaskier, petting at his hand soothingly. 

“Jaskier? Julian, love, can you hear me?” she whispered to him, and his eyes cleared slightly as he looked at her.

“Vee?” he answered, clearing his throat as he glanced around the room. He recoiled at the sight of Geralt, and the Witcher felt his heart crack. “What is he doing here? Is he here to hurt me?” Valyrie smoothed his hair back from his forehead and pressed her lips to the skin. 

“No, Jaskier, listen. Are you listening to me?” she demanded, pulling back to make him look at her. He nodded, big eyes focused intently. “Magda is going to come back soon and she’s going to ask about your lessons. Tell her the stories, okay? But remember, Jaskier, they’re _just stories_ , right? Geralt here is going to protect you.”

Jaskier nodded seriously. “Just stories,” he whispered. “Geralt will protect me.” Valyrie pressed another kiss to his forehead and then stood, leaving him alone and small in the bed. They exited the room and watched a mouse skitter along the corridor. Yennefer shivered and watched it run under Jaskier’s door.

“This mage is strong,” Yennefer commented once the three of them were back in the Witcher’s temporary lodgings. Geralt stared at her until she relented. “Okay, I’m stronger, but I really don’t know what to do to bring the memories back. We may have to let this play out for now.”

Geralt rubbed a hand over his face. “When is he most lucid?” he asked Valyrie, who was watching them both with an annoyed look on her face. 

“This is the best you’ve got?” she demanded, cheeks reddening as she stalked forward. “The two of you are useless. My poor brother is locked in his own mind by some mediocre mage and you can’t slap him out of it? Are you kidding?”

“What do your parents want from him, Valyrie?” Geralt asked, thinking. “What is the point of this? What is going to make him stay once this mage can’t hold him down anymore?”

Valyrie shook her head. “A wife and child,” she admitted. “They know he’s a cad but he’s honorable. If he finds himself saddled with a pregnant wife, he’ll never leave her. And then he’ll inherit the title when Father dies, and he will produce an heir to carry on the family name.” 

Yennefer started laughing. Geralt turned slowly to look at her, his eyebrows climbing into his hairline.

“What,” he asked, deadpan, “could possibly be so amusing about this scenario?”

She shook her head. “It’s another betrothal ball,” she told him, folding her arms. “They’re going to make sure it sticks this time. Geralt, we’re running out of time. I can’t just go into his head and play around. Jaskier’s strong, but humans can barely handle one mage messing about in their head let alone two waging war in there. You’re going to have to jog the memories loose.”

Another knock at the door, and Valyrie answered it to a servant announcing dinner. She dismissed the young boy and then turned to Geralt and Yennefer, mouth pinched.

“Do whatever you need to do,” she ordered them both. “I don’t care. I want my brother back.”

She swept out of the room to freshen up for dinner, and Geralt and Yennefer were left alone.

“Do you have any idea what I can do?” Geralt asked the mage as they prepared for dinner, his voice despondent.

“Cognitive recalibration, maybe,” she answered mildly, pulling at the corset of her black dress. “Here, tighten this.”

“Hit him in the head really hard?” he asked doubtfully, fingers yanking her corset tighter and tying it off neatly. 

She laughed. “Maybe.” The moment of teasing passed and they were left standing and staring at one another. Yennefer shifted uncomfortably and her skirts rustled. Geralt sighed. 

“I’m worried,” he admitted. “What if I can’t get through to him? I’ve only just gotten him, Yen. I can’t lose him already.”

Yennefer’s eyes softened and she brought the Witcher into an uncharacteristic hug, ignoring his tense posture and patting his back. “If anyone can get Jaskier out of a sticky situation, Geralt, it’s you. Have faith. You’ll figure it out.”

Valyrie reappeared at Geralt’s other side as he and Yennefer entered the Great Hall. The room was large and airy, skylights letting in sunshine to dapple across the big, gleaming wooden tables. Nobles were already gathered and sipping wine and ale, servants moving about the room to refill glasses and offer hor d'oeuvres. 

Geralt’s eyes scanned the room quickly as his medallion started humming again.

“Something is wrong with your mother,” he finally said to Valyrie, who only laughed and waved a hand.

“She’s _not_ our mother,” she answered, disdain in her voice. “Mother died when Jaskier was young. She was murdered.”

Geralt turned to look at Valyrie and quirked a brow. “Murdered by who?”

Valyrie shrugged. “Probably the Countess. We could never prove it.”

“She’s not human,” the Witcher informed her. “Do you know what she is?”

“I think she’s a very small part fey,” Valyrie admitted, shrugging. “She won’t talk about it and neither Jaskier nor I could figure it out for sure. She doesn’t seem to hold any power, other than that weird ethereal _glow_ of hers.”

Geralt _hmm_ ed in response. “It would make sense. She’s not a threat, just nonhuman. It would explain why my medallion hums when she’s near.”

“Your medallion tells you when there’s monsters nearby? Of course it reacted to her,” Valyrie told him bitterly. “She’s a monster for sure. She’s the one who hired Magda.”

Geralt caught a whiff of sunshine and his eyes darted to the source before he could think. Jaskier stood at the entrance to the hall, blue eyes blank and dazed as he talked to the Countess. She smiled at him and put a hand on his shoulder before leading him to a young girl with silvery-blonde hair. The girl was short and curvy with big hips and breasts, exactly the type of girl that Jaskier would have gone for before he and Geralt got involved. His fists clenched as he watched Jaskier toy with a piece of her hair, her blush spreading attractively over her cheeks.

“I need to isolate him,” he told Yennefer. She nodded. “I don’t care if I have to beat the shit out of him, Yen, I won’t let this happen.” He only hoped Jaskier could forgive any transgression.

“I understand. Let us have dinner and then when the festivities commence, I’ll help,” she told him, choosing a seat at a sparsely occupied table and gesturing for Geralt to claim the seat next to her. 

“I’ll keep an eye on him from the high table as best as I can,” Valyrie promised, shooting them both a meaningful look as she departed.

“Why is she helping us?” Yennefer asked him quietly, picking up her goblet and nodding her thanks as a servant filled it immediately. She took a sip, violet eyes scanning the high table and watching as Jaskier settled in next to his father. 

“She loves him,” Geralt told her, shrugging. “Sometimes that’s enough.”

The feast was merry and the food plentiful, and Geralt ate little and drank less as he watched Jaskier. The bard picked at his plate with little enthusiasm, his dull eyes fixated on the musicians milling about plucking their instruments. The mage, Magda, sat to his other side and watched him out of the corner of her eye. Geralt found himself watching her for a moment, instead of his bard. He noted the tense hunch of her shoulders, the pallor of her complexion, the lankness of her hair. Whatever she was doing to Jaskier was taking a lot of energy, and she was weak.

“I need you to distract Magda after the feast while I isolate Jaskier. She’s weak from this, she may let him go just so she can rest,” he murmured to Yen, who nodded once. 

Dinner lasted for what felt like hours, but eventually the Count stood and the room fell silent.

“Thank you all for joining us today,” he said, voice booming. “We are so pleased to announce that our son Julian has accepted the offer from the Duke to marry his lovely daughter!”

Applause broke out and the Count let his hands drop to dig one nonchalantly into Jaskier’s side. The bard rose as if in a trance and waved at the room, smile bland and eyes vacant. Geralt felt his stomach cramp. Everything about Jaskier in this moment was off, and it made him uneasy.

“And now, to celebrate!” the Count announced, and everyone cheered as the tables were cleared and moved to make room for dancing. The musicians began to play louder, jauntier tunes, and Geralt and Yennefer parted ways to start their extraction. 

“Magda, was it?” Yennefer asked, standing in front of the mage still seated at the high table, eyes downcast. 

“Hmm?” she responded, eyes darting up to meet Yennefer’s cold violet. The dark-haired witch didn’t smile.

“Yennefer of Vengerberg,” Magda said, folding her hands. “I should’ve known you’d come too.”

“Let him go, Magda. Magic this intense will kill you, you know it will. What has he promised you?” Yennefer demanded, hands on her hips.

“It’s not him, it’s his wife. Did you know she’s part fey?” Magda asked, eyes glittering. “She’s going to introduce me to them and I will learn from them. Maybe I’ll even be more powerful than you,” she mused, eyes going to her fingers where they twisted together on the table.

“His wife?” Yennefer scoffed, rolling her eyes. “She has no power. Didn’t you know? The fey blood is so miniscule, she’d never be able to find a Fairy Ring, much less get through one.”

Magda’s eyes shot back up to Yennefer’s own. “No,” she denied, shaking her head. “You’re lying. She’s at least half, she said, probably more.”

“No,” Yennefer refuted, shaking her own head in response. “You little fool, did you really think a fey would make a deal with a mage? It’s just your luck she’s a liar, or you’d be enslaved or dead by now.”

While she argued with Magda, Yennefer kept one eye trained on Geralt’s progress, and she relaxed a fraction when he approached Jaskier with little trouble.

“Jaskier, can I speak with you privately?” Geralt asked quietly, voice even and neutral.

“Jaskier?” the bard repeated, eyes flashing for a moment before going dull again. “No one’s called me that since I was just a wee one. Do I know you?”

“Yes, we’re old friends. Can we talk somewhere privately?” Geralt pressed. 

Jaskier furrowed his brow before nodding and beginning to wander through the crowd. Geralt followed him at a discreet pace, and soon they were alone in the hallway outside of the Great Hall. Jaskier stared at him, glazed blue eyes unblinking, and Geralt found himself approaching the bard and cupping a hand to his face, unnerved by the lack of recognition in those familiar eyes.

“Jaskier, I know you’re in there. Please. It’s me. It’s Geralt.”

“Geralt will protect me,” Jaskier said, parroting back Valyrie’s words from only a few hours ago.

“Yes,” the Witcher responded immediately, pressing Jaskier’s forehead to his lips. “I will protect you, Jaskier, okay? Do you know who I am?”

“A Witcher,” Jaskier mumbled against Geralt’s chest, where he had settled comfortably.

“I’m your Witcher,” Geralt corrected him immediately. “Not any Witcher, Jaskier. _Yours_. Do you understand?”

“Witchers will hurt me,” he said after a moment, going rigid in Geralt’s arms. 

“No, no, I won’t hurt you, Jaskier, I promise. Please listen to me,” the Witcher said frantically, taking Jaskier’s face between both of his big hands, thumbs brushing his fine cheekbones. Jaskier’s blank eyes were too much for Geralt to bear, and he pressed their foreheads together and closed his own.

“Please don’t hurt me,” Jaskier whispered, voice thin and shaky. 

Geralt let out a soft noise like he’d been wounded and brought their mouths together fervently. He poured all of the words he couldn’t say into the press of their mouths, and for a long, terrible moment, Jaskier was frozen and afraid against him. The scent of sour fear in his nose mixed with the sweet summer of Jaskier and it swirled together to make Geralt nauseous and dizzy.

“Geralt,” Jaskier breathed against his lips when they parted. His eyes were wide and beautiful, alert and searching. “Please get me the fuck out of here. I hate this place.”

Geralt stood and stared at the man in his arms for a moment before he began to laugh.


End file.
